


Unspoken

by Jadzibelle



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode 5.22: A Matter of Time, Episode Tag, Gen, Season 5B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzibelle/pseuds/Jadzibelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet moment of connection in the wake of 5.22.  Duke is home and Nathan made it back out of the Void; they still can't say everything they should, but maybe this once, they don't need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

Night sits heavy on the town, as it has since the Fog went up.

It’s the first night Nathan hasn’t cared that he can’t see the stars; it’s the first night he hasn’t been watching the wall for some sign of change. He steps out onto the porch, moves to stand at the rail without a word, looking out into the muffled darkness, steady and calm.

Duke shifts the wrong way when Nathan’s hand lands beside his own; he curls into himself, retreats, instead of leaning into Nathan’s side as he would have only a few weeks before. Nathan chooses not to react, doesn’t mirror Duke’s move to create space, but doesn’t close the distance the way he wants to, either. He just waits.

Duke is _there_ ; Nathan can afford to wait.

“Didn’t realize it blocked the sky like this,” Duke says, after a moment, and his voice is heavy. Nathan can hear the twist of loathing in it; it is a thin effort, and does not disguise the fear beneath. He remembers being sixteen and out past curfew, lying on the grass of the bluff not far down the road, listening to Duke cuss out the clouds; remembers him saying how much he hated not being able to see the stars.

_Smothered_ , was the word he’d used.

It feels appropriate, now.

“Not as obvious, during the day,” Nathan says, as if it makes any difference. As if daybreak will change that they are all of them still trapped, still sequestered away from the rest of the world by an intangible wall.

As if daybreak will change that Duke is _not_ , that he could walk right back out into a world that isn’t smothering under the weight of a dead man’s fear.

Nathan regrets every time he has called Duke a coward; there have been a few, and it has never been true. Seeing him dig his fingers into the wooden rail, knuckles pale in the darkness, holding back his claustrophobic fear by force of will, it’s harder to excuse his past misjudgements.

They are silent for long minutes. Duke does not relax back into the space he had been occupying, does not allow himself the contact Nathan had offered in stepping up so close beside him. Nathan decides he has waited long enough.

“Duke...” Nathan trails off, struggling to find words immense enough to articulate the thoughts which have been welling up within him since he’d opened his door and found Duke on the other side.

Duke says nothing, but Nathan knows he has his attention, sees it in the subtle shift of Duke’s body in his direction.

“You came back.” It isn’t enough, isn’t even close, doesn’t carry the weight it needs to. Duke waits, his silence uncertain. “You understand, what that means?”

“Do you?” Duke asks, turning fully, facing Nathan and letting one hand fall from the rail. He keeps a desperate grip with the other, and Nathan knows he’s not the only one trying to fill simple words with more meaning than they can hold.

Duke’s eyes catch the yellow light leaking out from the kitchen window; they gleam in the darkness, as bleak and unreadable as they have ever been when Troubled silver or aether black.

Still, Nathan thinks that perhaps for the first time, he does.

“Thank you,” he rasps, and once more, the words fall short. They aren’t anywhere near enough to convey what he means.

“Don’t,” Duke says, shaking his head. “I meant it. What I said, when I left. I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are,” Nathan says. He reaches out, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder; it’s not enough, and he curls his fingers into the collar of Duke’s shirt, holds on like he can anchor them both.

Like he can convey with a desperate grip all the things he cannot convey with words.

Duke looks down at Nathan’s hand, brow furrowed, as though he is the one who must assess touch by sight, as though he is the one who finds _touch_ a challenging language to decipher. When he looks back up, there is nothing _unreadable_ in his eyes; he is afraid, and he is alone, and he is asking Nathan for answers Nathan has never been able to give.

“Come back inside,” Nathan says, and it is an answer, it is _the_ answer. It is _yes_ and _stay_ and _we need you_. It is _I’m sorry_ and _I missed you_ and _I was afraid without you_. It is _things are better with you here_ and _don’t leave me again_ and _I know what it means that you came back_.

Duke hesitates, and Nathan waits, silently hoping Duke can hear all of those unspoken words.

“...Yeah,” Duke says finally, letting go of the porch rail and transferring his white-knuckled grip to Nathan’s wrist, instead. “Okay.”

Nathan wonders just what unspoken words he might be deaf to, wonders what he might not be seeing in the lines around Duke’s mouth and the shadows under his eyes and the way he curves his shoulders like his answer is a defeat.

But Duke is following him back to the door, is following him back inside, and for now, that is enough.

Duke is _there_ ; they have time to figure the rest out.


End file.
